cascading stars on slumbering hills
by Mia-Zeklos
Summary: "She had never seen him die before."


**Notes: First fic in this fandom! Which is why it's so short. I'm still entirely unsure whether I'm doing the characters justice.**

 **Other than that... I've had the (very vague) idea for this fic ever since Lagertha's speech by Ragnar's coffin in 3x10 and it would not leave me alone, so this is what it's inspired by.** **I hope you enjoy this and feedback is always welcome!**

She had never seen him die before.

It was stupid, really, to worry, and Lagertha wasn't quite sure that _worried_ was the word she was looking for. She was anxious and restless and had been so for the past few hours and much to her dismay, the unease had only grown as the night had started creeping up behind the hills in the distance.

No one ever died in Valhalla, not permanently. Lagertha had been here long enough to see countless examples of that rule and while it hadn't happened to her just yet, it had become a routine of sorts; watching people die and dining with them the same evening as if nothing had happened at all. People she knew, even, friends she'd made here or back on Midgard, and while it had been unsettling at first, it had been a matter of time before she'd got used to the fact that she'd meet them again after sundown. She'd killed her own fair share of them today, too, her axe still stained with the blood of her last opponent – someone vaguely familiar whose name she hadn't managed to remember yet. It was exactly what she'd expected from the stories she'd heard about Valhalla and on most days, it was a dream come true.

But this? Somehow, she'd never expected to have to deal with this.

Ragnar was still sprawled on the ground next to her on the edge of the field of their most recent battle, just like he'd been an hour ago. He was too heavy for her to carry him elsewhere and Lagertha had done everything she could to convince herself to leave him because this was _pointless_ and he would be as good as new even sooner than she expected. She hadn't succeeded so far and she lay down next to him now, her resignation to the current state of affairs followed by a sigh of defeat. Try as she might, she knew that she wouldn't leave; not until she saw him move again.

Tracing the problem to its source wasn't exactly a hardship. She hadn't been there when he'd died first and the idea of that still hurt. It was a distant, dull ache now, meaningless in their new world, but it wasn't forgotten and it _stung_ when she thought of it, so much that her resolution to stay could only grow stronger.

Not that the circumstances were the same now, of course. Last time, Ragnar been alone and surrounded by enemies, dying in a way he'd likely never imagined before and the thought of that had haunted her for years no matter how hard she'd tried to let it go. He'd been weakened by a number of things, too, while she'd only seen him at the peak of his strength ever since he'd first welcomed her at Valhalla's gates. Now, he'd seemed to find dying almost _amusing_ and not even the pain had managed to diminish that and all Lagertha could do was try and accept it for what it was. There were no true enemies here, no true _death_ , nothing that wouldn't be reversed in a matter of a day at most. It was even less in this case – if she could remember correctly, it had been Torstein's arrow that had hit too close to Ragnar's heart before he'd been able to react. It was a game to them, just like the competitions they organised sometimes and it had been the same for her before the reality of it had settled in.

He wasn't really dead. He wouldn't be for a long, long time because no harm would come to anyone here before Odin called them for their final battle. But, ridiculous as it was, that didn't make seeing Ragnar like this – motionless, quiet, in complete contrast to his usual constant state of unwavering energy – any easier to bear.

It would be time for supper soon, she noticed. Everyone who'd survived the day was heading for the hall already, so no one was paying them any mind, detached from the crowd as they were. With an absent brush of her fingers over his hair, Lagertha made yet another attempt to relax in her place, drawing a little closer still just in case.

 **o.O.o**

"Lagertha. Lagertha, wake up! What are you _doing_ here?"

She'd fallen asleep. The awareness hit as soon as she blearily blinked up at the wide eyes currently fixed on her face and Lagertha pushed herself up with a groan.

It was dark already; the moon above them the only thing illuminating the landscape. Ragnar was little more than a silhouette under its light, but it was enough for her to see that there was no trace of his wound apart from the hole in his armour and the dried blood around it. _Of course there wasn't_. Lagertha had _known_ that, but she still suspected that the relief was palpable in her sleep-heavy voice when she spoke.

"Waiting for you. What do you think I'm doing?" It felt like the most obvious answer in the world and she wasn't exactly _prepared_ for the laughter and the smothering kiss that followed, but she allowed it easily nevertheless. Ragnar's enthusiasm was exhilarating and the familiarity of his caresses, clumsy in their eagerness, was all she'd needed for the realisation that he really was _here_ , alive and breathing and everything she'd feared he wouldn't be when she opened her eyes again.

"You shouldn't have." The words were murmured against her neck, soon replaced with quick, impatient kisses radiating more fondness than anything else. "I would have caught up with you."

It had happened before, then. Lagertha had never asked how much time had passed between the time when he'd first been taken to Valhalla and her arrival, but it had to have been enough for him to get used to this; enough for him to be _surprised_ that she'd stayed by his side.

Ragnar pulled away and brought her up with him, their position changing only minutely as they shifted against each other. "You must be hungry," he said and Lagertha frowned, the meaning of the suggestion dawning on her a moment later _– they should have been at the feast already_ – before she shook her head.

"I'd rather stay here." Here, not back in the house they'd picked for themselves; here, where Ragnar's blood still stained the grass. It wasn't much of a surprise that he understood and tightened the circle of his arms around her – knowing him, he'd thought the exact same thing.

It was an old, well learnt dance, one that they'd been used to years ago and had never really forgotten since then and it was _effortless_ now, all too easy for Lagertha to push herself up into his lap until their eyes were at the same level and kiss him. Even this was laced with a quiet sort of desperation and relief now and it was impossible not to let it show, so she welcomed it instead; love and grief and a thousand things she would never say mixing together as she bit down on Ragnar's lower lip and pushed him onto his back, bracing her hands on his shoulders.

He hadn't said a word so far, staring up at her with something akin to awe glinting in his eyes and Lagertha took the opportunity to look her fill too. It was only fair to grant herself this; to be greedy and just _take_ what she wanted like she was used to. She trailed her hand down his chest, eventually sliding over the place where his armour was secured around his waist only for her to be stopped in her tracks by Ragnar's fingers interlacing with hers.

"No need to hurry." It was as if he'd noticed the franticness in her hands; the barely subdued panic that she'd willed her mind to ignore. His touch was warm, grounding, and Lagertha could feel the tension slipping away, replaced with a bone-deep calm that had been eluding her for hours. "We have all night, do we not?"

This night, and the next one, and every night that followed after that. It seemed so _simple_ when said like that and for the first time, Lagertha could feel the truth of it taking root inside her.

"We do," she nodded and it was more than agreement; more than an oath, even, when she sealed it with a kiss.


End file.
